


A Successful First Shot

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dark, First Kiss, Hunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-30
Updated: 2003-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl





	A Successful First Shot

It was fortunate that Strider found us, because we could never have packed all the food we needed, and none of us knew how to hunt. Our provisions were already diminished when we joined up with Strider. He started going on little expeditions. He always brought something back; coneys, usually, but one night it was a small deer.

All the years of my life I'd never eaten something that I'd killed myself. I didn't even squash spiders; I picked them up with a napkin and set them outside my door, or had Sam do it if he was around. When I went to the market, everything was long dead. I never had to watch a farmer slaughter a pig so that I could have crisp bacon every morning. Sam had seen those sorts of things, but he never told me about them.

I was accustomed to animals being living breathing creatures before my eyes, or cut-up, cooked food in my mouth, but never had I seen one that had so recently crossed over. Sam and my cousins watched, fascinated, as Strider gutted the deer. I was revolted, and quietly stepped away from the camp, cold and blind in the darkness. I heard their voices from afar. "Aye, he can be sensitive," Sam said, but I couldn't make out anything else.

"Come, Frodo," Strider called to me. "Our meal is almost ready." When I returned to the camp someone handed me a plate. I ate dutifully; Sam worried when I don't eat. The warm venison filled my stomach, but did not leave me feeling satisfied. When Sam asked me if I'd enjoyed the repast, I pretended I had not heard him.

The following night, Strider again went for a hunt. He had a light bow and quiver, but he was a swordsman at heart, so they were nothing special. This time he asked me to accompany him. I asked why he would want me along; I had nothing to offer him in his endeavor. He frowned. "You can come with me, or not. But I am asking you to."

"Don't be foolish, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered to me. "Go with him."

I got up and followed him.

Strider knew these woods very well. He led me silently through all the twists and turns of a path only he could see. Or maybe he couldn't see it either, but he felt it. It was as though someone were in front of him, and he was following them. When he stopped, I nearly crashed into him. He crouched down and brought me to the ground alongside him.

We waited for a long time. I had questions to ask him. I wanted to know how long we would have to wait. My legs were cramping and it was already well past suppertime. But I stayed quiet. I still didn't know what I was doing here.

There was a rustling of leaves, and a buck appeared. He was full-grown and his antlers looked dangerous. I counted six points on each. Strider did not make a move. He was hardly even watching the buck; he was looking around. The buck passed us by and disappeared into the brush.

When he was gone, and I thought it would not be too inappropriate, I leaned over to whisper to Strider, as low as I could, "Why did you let him go? He was standing right there."

Strider shook his head. "He was too big. Most of him would have gone to waste, even with five of us. And at this time of year, the meat from a buck would be gamy. We're waiting for a young doe. And if that buck is here, there should be many nearby."

The skill of a hunter should be judged not by the accuracy of the shots he takes, but of the shots be passes up. Sure enough, moments later a doe showed up. She was coming straight towards us. Strider moved so slowly, I didn't even notice until his arrow was fully drawn. But still he did not shoot. The doe stopped, and seemed to be looking right at us, then she turned around and wandered in the other direction. It was not until later that I realized Strider was waiting for a broadside shot. But perhaps he waited too long. The doe gave him a good angle, but now she was trotting away. Strider grunted softly, and the doe stopped. Her ears twitched. Strider released his arrow. It hit squarely between her backbone and her brisket, just behind the shoulder. She made as if to take one more step, but then shuddered and dropped, even before the bowstring had stilled.

Strider leapt forward and took my arm. "It was a good kill," he whispered as he dragged me behind him. "A swift kill." When we crouched before the doe, she was already dead. "The meat of a good beast that suffers needlessly before death is fouler than that of any fell creature."

I looked at her. Her eyes were still open, and reflected the moonlight. Steam trickled up out of her wound when Strider pulled the arrow out. There was very little blood, but seeing it come out of her reminded me of what was flowing through my own veins. For a moment I had felt a little twinge of triumph, that Strider had made such a successful first shot that night. But I was not happy now.

Strider dropped his pack and took from it a cup. It was clay, and shallow. I opened my mouth to ask what it was for but he got out his knife too, so I shut it again. He put his hand on the doe's head to steady it and slit her throat in one effortless swipe. Blood poured out, and he put the cup under the flow. When it was half-full he offered it to me.

I refused, shutting my mouth tightly. He tried to coax me; he put his hand on my neck and pressed the rim of the cup against my lips but I turned my head. "I will not drink," I said, with my hands over my mouth. "I am no hunter."

"Her life energy will become ours," he said. "Please, drink."

"You took her life. She did not give it to you!"

He retreated. My eyes followed the cup. He lifted it to his own lips and drank deeply while I stared. Then he played a dirty trick on me. Even before his head tipped forward again he reached out and took hold of my nose, pinching my nostrils shut. When I gasped for breath he put his mouth over mine and delivered the blood to me in a kiss. He'd tossed the cup aside and was holding me tightly, filling my mouth with the essence of the animal. His tongue was on mine, and under it. He was seeking her blood and pushing it down my throat. A fire grew in my belly and I felt a sudden rush. I think I left my body. I closed my eyes but I could still see. I saw myself and Strider, coiled together on the forest floor. I saw my hands groping aimlessly. I heard, from far off, my whimpers, and his moans. I thought we were making love. Then there was a taste in my mouth, like I had a mouthful of coins. I feared that if Strider released me, coppers would spill from my lips, and I didn't want him to let go. I was sure my heart would stop, and then the blood going down my throat would be the only blood flowing in my body.

He continued to kiss me. They were brief kisses, but forceful. Between each one, he pulled back to look at my mouth, which I am sure was stained vermilion, as his was. Our kisses made wet noises, and I became aroused.

"We should leave now," he said abruptly. "The smell of blood will attract other beasts."

It was still a long time before supper was prepared. Strider made us keep watch while he concentrated on cleaning and gutting the doe. I was not standing guard, really; I was watching the steam rise from her gaping body. And I could smell her. She did not smell bad at all. Strider said that was because her whole life she ate only fresh grass and drank only clean water. Creatures that ate meat smelled foul when they were opened up.

I stayed close this time as Strider began to cut her up, but averted my eyes. I could hear his knife tearing through her tendons, and the wet slap as her meat was thrown into the pan. Then the smell of sizzling flesh.

When I was offered the meat, I refused, even though I was very, very hungry.


End file.
